TradeOff
by Alex Kade
Summary: If Ezra could tell me how he felt about being in our fanfics...


**A/N: **Inspired by stories from **Ness Ayton. **Her's had Vin arguing with a fanfic author. Mine has Ezra arguing with me, lol. I can only imagine the things he must think of me after all the crap I put him through! This has references to all my other M7 fics, so you might want to read those first, if you haven't.

* * *

"I refuse to participate in your, your, _morbid _games any longer!"

"They're not games, they're stories."

"You are playing with my livelihood, and my health! It's all one big, horrible game to you – to _all_ of you! You've had me stabbed, shot, beaten, tortured, thrown off cliffs, buried under rubble, hung, strangled, sliced, drowned, poisoned, concussed, deathly ill, stampeded over, and just generally bruised and battered in any way imaginable! What is wrong with you people? "

"I don't know. We like hurt/angst stories."

"You need therapy!"

"Probably." *shrug* "Insulting me isn't going to get you out of this, you know."

"Well I certainly have never begged for anything, so don't expect me to go there."

"Yes you have. Several times, in fact. But, if it you makes you feel any better, most of those times weren't for you. Typically you were begging for someone else's life."

"Oh, how noble of me."'

"Sarcasm won't help you, either. Now come on, get in position."

"No."

"If you aren't standing right there, then that conveniently placed powder keg will be useless."

"And that, my dear, is exactly the point. I refuse to stand anywhere near that thing."

"Don't fight me on this, I'll convince you to do it, anyway."

"You will do no such thing."

"I bet you ten dollars I can."

"That is ten dollars you will lose."

"Are you in, then?"

"Most assuredly. I'm staying right here, safely out of range of whatever shrapnel may fly into my person or whatever mortifying effects a concussion may cause. I refuse to be struck blind, deaf, suffer through a bout of amnesia, or, god forbid, return to the mindset of my six-year-old self."

"Haha, yeah, I bet it's really embarrassing when that happens."

"You have no idea. Now hand over my money, please. As you can see, I have not budged."

"I haven't had my turn, yet."

"Dear girl, nothing you can say will convince me to position myself beside a powder keg seconds away from its explosion. Only a complete imbecile would do such a thing."

"I'll just stick one of the others over there if you don't go."

"I don't care."

"Yes you do. In fact, you've been known to care almost more than anyone else. You're just better at hiding it."

"Well not this time."

"What if I say I'll turn this into a deathfic if you don't do it? You want to be responsible for JD's death?"

"_I've_ died on any number of occasions. In fact, sometimes I wish you all would just leave me there."

"You don't mean that."

"I might."

"No you don't. You can't stand the thought of that being the end, leaving you forgotten by the rest of the world."

"…Fine. I don't wish to die permanently. But, had you all left me alone after the termination of my screen time, I would never have died at all. It's not a pleasant experience, you know."

"Hmm, I imagine not. You know, it is possible that if the show had continued, you could have been injured just as many times as we've caused. In only two seasons, you'd already been shot twice and had your shoulder dislocated."

"Once. I was shot once. The second shot merely resulted in the loss of a very precious diamond."

"I bet it left a pretty nasty bruise, too."

"That was never proven nor mentioned, so therefore, I was granted reprieve from that particular unpleasantry."

"You still dislocated your shoulder in the very first episode."

"Yes, the first, and _only_ the first. Since my fate has fallen into the hands of the likes of you people, it's been re-dislocated no less than three hundred, forty-seven times by my count. I'm surprised it hasn't been ripped clean from my body by now."

"Nah, we wouldn't do that. You kind of need your arms... Although it was sort of fun watching you work without them."

"That was not fun. It was cruel."

"Haha, I know. But, hey, at least I let you outwit Chris at the end, there."

"…I admit, that was mildly amusing, but still not worth the hassle of going through several weeks without my appendages. And, on top of that fiasco, you, ma'am, are personally responsible for taking away my speech-"

"I gave you a cool dog."

"Not a fair trade."

"She'll come in handy. I'm not done with that story, yet."

"Oh good lord. Yes, that has me feeling much more apt to go stand beside that powder keg. Now, where was I? Oh yes, aside from debilitating me in the areas of conversation, you've also led me to believe I lost my dear Chaucer while managing, at the same time, to cause me to nearly bleed to death."

"Ah, but you also got to kick Chris's ass. _While_ you were seriously injured."

"I had to dislocate my own arm, _again_, to do it."

"Yeah, that made you look more bad-ass, didn't it?"

*sigh* "I suppose it did, but I don't believe it was necessary. I assure you I would have fared well enough in that fight without resorting to such drastic measures."

"Because you were a boxer."

"Yes."

"Because _we_ wrote in that little part of your past."

"Your point?"

"My point is that if we didn't give you some sort of formal fighting training, I think Chris would wipe the floor with you."

"I beg to differ."

"You want to try it? I'll stick you in a scenario right now, and I'll rewrite your history where you have no boxing experience. We'll see who wins. Let's go."

"This is ridiculous. I'm not stooping to your levels."

"Because you know you'd lose. You like the fact that you can fight. Just like you like the fact that you can play piano, and can get up on the rooftops, and can teach Chaucer (who we named, I might add) a million cool tricks, and are fluent in several languages, and is considered the best undercover agent there is, and can fly planes, and have proven your teammates wrong a bazillion times, and–"

"Yes, yes, fine, I admit it. I do enjoy all the extra…talents…I've received at the hands of you well-meaning fans. I just don't understand why bodily injury always must accompany those talents."

"That's just the trade-off. You have these special abilites so they can save your life. You think you would have survived being stabbed in the heart without your musical knowledge?"

"You didn't have to have me stabbed to begin with."

"True, but sometimes this stuff just happens… That story's not done yet, either, by the way. Consider this your warning."

"…Why do you hate me?"

"Ah, don't say that. You know I only do it because I love you."

"Which is why you want me to be blown up?"

"Exactly. It brings the whole focus of the story on you. Here, look at the scene again. If you don't walk over there by that keg, you won't be able to see the fact that One-eyed Joe, there, is about to take a shot at little Stevie. Now, if that happens, Stevie dies and you have to go through all the self-guilt at knowing a kid died because you weren't in the right place at the right time, and I'll probably have Nathan come down on you for some reason or other because I'd have to make an excuse for _why_ you weren't where you were supposed to be and it would probably seem self-serving, and you'd have to re-earn the guys' trust which is always a hassle, meaning that overall, the story will wind up much longer than it needs to be and I'll probably have to injure you in some other way to reestablish your position on the team, and neither of us really wants that, do we? Or, you could just go stand over there where I want you, you save the kid, get blown up, take a little shrapnel because I didn't want to go the concussed route this time, anyway, and wake up in the clinic a hero. That'll be it. I promise. Just a clean, feel-good ending where you save the day and everyone's happy."

"….Can we at least do this in the ATF universe? At least I'll be transferred to a clean, comfortable hospital for my recovery."

"But then I can't have the shrapnel cause an infection."

"Which is exactly my point."

"The infection draws out the suffering more, meaning the guys have to be concerned for your survival a bit longer. It makes the story more suspenseful."

"Does it need to be more suspenseful?"

"Yes."

"You are a cruel individual."

"I never said I wasn't. Now hurry up, I can only pause the scene for so long, you know. Make your choice."

"…."

"Look, I'll make little Stevie come from a rich family. His parents can send you reward money for your near-death."

"Which, no doubt, you'll make me give to some rundown orphanage somewhere out of the kindness of my heart?"

"Naturally."

"Then what good will that do me?"

"You'll earn more respect, and maybe next Christmas the orphans will return the favor with some big, heartwarming gift. I don't know, it'll be worth it in the long run."

"May I have your word on that?"

"Sure, yeah, whatever."

"Not very convincing."

"Take it or leave it. We're running out of time. Are you gonna stand over there or not?"

"…Oh, very well. I'm going."

"Oh, wait, wait! Give me my ten, first. I don't want it to be blown up."

"…I hate you."

"I love you, too, _imbecile_." *wink* "Now go... And…start scene!"


End file.
